In the Worst Way (Mercy Watts Mysteries Book 5) by A.W. Hartoin Read Free Book Online Page B

said Dad.  
    “ Would I say that?”
    “Yes, they’re work friends.”  
    “What work?” I asked. Dad had friends in every walk of life. If John and Leslie had been cops, he would’ve just said that. They were something else and that made me nervous.  
    “They’re retired.”
    “From what?  
    “That’s all you need to know,” said Mom. “Pick up a bag and let’s go.”  
    I grabbed the garment bag. “Wait. Where’s Pick?”  
    “He’s fine. Come on,” said Dad.  
    “Where is he?”  
    “You’re not taking him.”  
    I dropped the bag. “Pick! Pickpocket! Come here, fuzzball!”  
    “Mercy!” said Mom. “People are waiting.”  
    “Well, they can keep waiting. Chuck left his dog with me, not you.”  
    Mom and Dad followed me through the first floor, protesting that I needn’t worry about Pickpocket. The more they protested, the more I worried. And I was right to worry. I finally found Pick in the butler’s pantry, trembling in a corner, surrounded by the evil Siamese. Swish had a tuft of fuzzy fur in his chops and Swat had all his claws out.  
    I grabbed the broom and brandished it. “Not today, you freaks. One bald pet is enough.”  
    “Mercy!” said Mom. “If you hit my babies, so help me, I will—”
    “What Mom? What are you going to do? Those cats are evil and mean and evil.”  
    She squinted at me. “You said that already.”  
    “I’ll smack them into next Tuesday!”  
    Dad wrestled the broom out of my hand. “No, you won’t.” Then he whispered in my ear. “Because I have to live here.”  
    “Give me that broom,” said Mom with a strange glint in her eye. She was going whack me with it. I could tell.  
    “No, I don’t think I will,” said Dad. “Mercy will take Pickpocket with her. Problem solved.”  
    I took Pick’s leash off its hook and Mom gathered up her babies and took them cooing into the parlor. They hissed at me over her shoulder, but, of course, she didn’t notice.  
    “Your friends won’t care about bringing Pick?” I asked.  
    “I’ll explain it to them. Get a move on,” said Dad.  
    We got my ridiculous number of bags and went out the old servant’s entrance. It was a concealed door that you’d never know was there if someone didn’t open it for you. Our house hadn’t seen a servant since Josiah Bled had lived there. He moved out and disappeared, then my parents moved in. Josiah designed the house with secret doors and hidden staircases. As we stepped out into the cool morning air, it occurred to me for the first time that the secret of why Millicent and Myrtle had given the house to my parent’s might be hidden in the house itself.  
    “Hey, Dad?”  
    “Yeah?”  
    “Do you think you’ve found all the hidden stuff in our house?” I asked.  
    “How would I know?” He laughed. “The building plans he filed with the city are practically blank.”  
    “That’s weird.”  
    Dad shushed me. “Keep quiet. Why do you think we’re getting you out at this hour?”  
    “You’re crazy,” I whispered.  
    “I’m hoping that if the Costillas have anyone watching the house, they’ll be lax at this hour.”  
    “Is that why we’re going to Sandy’s?”  
    Dad nodded and we went through Mom’s side garden. There was lots of ivy, good for concealment. All the outdoor lights were off and Dad was very quiet about opening the gate to Sandy’s house next door. Her house was built about the same time as ours but was a Tuscan-style villa. Every house in the Central West End was as unique as its owners.  
    We went through Sandy’s sculpture garden and Dad knocked softly on her side door, which wasn’t concealed at all.  
    The door cracked open, showing a young woman only five years my senior. Sandy was a celebrated young sculptor and heir to a small paper company fortune. “Hi,” she whispered and waved us in.  
    Sandy brought us through the main floor of her house to the garage, attached at the back